We are a widely-read crowd, which means by the Sturgeon’s law at least we’ve all read some pretty bad prose. In the spirit of the much-mourned You Knit What? blog, I’d like to see some of the worst you’ve found.
To start you off, a passage from the ever-delightful Fletcher Battershall, writing about the choice of leathers in Bookbinding for Bibliophiles (The Literary Collector Press, 1905):
The goat himself has few virtues; all ages have condemned him. In Attic groves he was ever a terror to the tender nymph, a follower of wine-bibbers, and of general ill-repute. Yearly he wandered in the desert, bearing the sins of a whole people on his horny pate. At some future day we know he is to be divided from the sheep. But this merit, if no other, he has above other beasts: his hide is tough. Properly tanned in sumach he is transmuted to a thing of beauty, suffers a “sea-change” into something fair, and is honored above the very clay of Caesar.
And then to thy once shaggy breast,
Now purified, shalt thou enfold
Frail Manon and fair Juliet
So sings some forgotten bibliomaniac. We despised him living, but we prize him dead. Such injustice is common to us.
Gimme what you got; ransack your shelves.
This is an apolitical thread. Violators will be mocked, if they’re lucky, and thrown to the weary masses if they’re not.